Male Bonding
by Celtic Amazon
Summary: An unbelievable lack of cases has left both Wallander and Martinsson bored and irritable after spending too much time trapped in the office together. Could this call to the potential disappearance of a teenage boy break the dry spell?
1. Felix and Oscar

_All your fandoms are belong to us! Watched BBC's Wallander and ever since, Wallander and Martinsson have been jibing back and forth in my head. Had to get his out..._

_Disclaimer: Mankell, and the BBC and Branagh have all the rights and profit. I have... kind of a sore knee from sitting like that while I typed this._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**MALE BONDING**

_Tap. Tap-tap. Taptaptap. Click. Click. Double click. Muttering..._

It was by now becoming an annoyingly familiar pattern and Kurt Wallander shot the blonde detective sitting across the office from him a pointed glare. But Martinsson was so absorbed in his damn computer that he didn't notice.

It had been a slow month. Last month, in contrast was an absolute maelstrom. It seemed everyone in Ystad had gotten together and made a pact to commit crimes in February. But March? March was slow, resulting in two things he was growing to resent: 1) the never-ending back-log of paperwork and 2) renovations at the station, which among other things, meant sharing closer quarters than he'd like with Martinsson.

Normally, he got on fine with the young detective.

Mostly.

When he was in a patient mood...

Over the past two weeks however, the young man seemed to have perfected his talents in annoying his senior officer. A normal, occupied Martinsson, was plenty sarcastic and peevish, but a bored Magnus Martinsson, he'd discovered, made that look like a charming alternative. In February, the month that hadn't distinguished itself with an utter lack of any interesting cases, the station's youngest detective had fractured and sprained his right wrist when a suspect twice his lanky size had tackled him. The injury had pretty much chained him to a desk since he couldn't be out in the field if he couldn't use his gun, and no one had been in favour of letting Martinsson test the theory that he could probably shoot just as well with his left after a little practice. So Lisa had tasked him with digitalizing all of their older records that hadn't yet made it into the system, and Kurt had had the joy and pleasure of sitting across from Martinsson while he suffered from cabin fever and attempted to type one handed.

Personally, he didn't see the unimaginable suffering of having to type with only one hand. He'd been writing reports since they were all done up on type writers and he'd always more or less typed with one hand. It suited his typing speed better anyway. He felt a certain fond nostalgia for the days of those stupid clacking gargantuan type writers. You typed out your report and held it in your hand and then it got filed in an actual physical filing cabinet. There was no danger like with the computer, of pressing one wrong button and then losing an entire afternoon's work-

Much like now. Wallander blinked at the blank page in front of him and frowned.

"It's gone again," he announced wearily to his office mate, who barely looked up from his battles with designing the digital archive.

"Did you happen to press the delete button?" Martinsson finally asked non-plussed.

"No. I just clicked 'file' and the whole bloody thing vanished."

The tapping of keys paused for a moment, "Did you click 'file' or 'case file'?"

"'What?"

Magnus sighed, "There are two buttons in the top right corner: 'file' and 'case file.'"

"I only see 'file."

"Are you looking at your screen?" the young detective asked incredulously.

"Where the hell else would I be looking?" Wallander growled.

"Well it's fairly obvious-"

"_Obviously_ it isn't!"

"It's nice to see the two of you getting on so well."

At that they both turned to find Holgersson watching them with a faint smirk of amusement.

"How is our new archive system coming?" she asked Martinsson, changing the subject before either detective could answer her.

"Wonderfully," Magnus deadpanned, sparing his bandaged wrist a resentful look.

She met Kurt's gaze, who shrugged, and glanced back, with no less resentment, at the blanked screen in front of him.

"I got a call..."

Wallander practically leapt out of his chair. No words had ever sounded so potentially like music to his ears, and he noticed, even Magnus perk up at the possibility of some action.

"It's fairly routine... a missing teenager who has a history of running off for days without telling his parents where he's gone off to. I was going to send a couple of officers over to talk to the parents but..."

The evils of technology already forgotten, Wallander had already grabbed his jacket, "I'll go. It could be something."

For his part, Martinsson sighed and resumed his single-handed typing.

"Magnus?" Holgersson crossed her arms and waited expectantly, until the young detective looked up at her. "Why don't you go with him?"

For a moment he seemed torn between jumping at the chance, and maintaining his cool disdain which clearly said this call was obviously too routine to need the attention of two detectives.

"What about the archive?"

Lisa shrugged, "The old system will be fine for another couple of days at least."

"The old system is a cardboard box," Magnus pointed out.

"Do you want to get out of here for a few hours or not?"

Without any further hesitation, the young detective grabbed his own coat. "Yeah. Absolutely."

_Oh good_, Kurt thought wryly, _company_.

* * *

_Thanks for reading! R&R if that's your thing. I always appreciate it _

_-Amazon_


	2. Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid

_I just felt like brigning back a little more of my two favourite dwarves: Grumpy and Snarky. An lo and behold, it seems this story is running away from one-shot home to become a full fledged multi-chap. So:_

_Disclaimer: I own none of this and no one pays me to be a fan of this stuff. But if I could own Martinsson and Wallander... I'd probably spend a disproportionate amount of time running my fingers through Magnus' adorable blond curls and watching him scowl. And maybe I'd finally buy Kurt a razor... poor guy..._

* * *

**BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID  
**

Kurt had always found driving meditative, especially through the countryside around Ystad. Long swathes of farmland rolled out smoothly to both sides, golden tipped crops swaying hypnotically under a grey-blue sky and the road stretched ahead dependably as they got further from the city. In the car was arguably where Wallander did his best thinking. He mulled over the details of cases, over suspects and witnesses and their words; replaying them for any vital information he might have missed. His mind was free to roam while his eyes skimmed along the road. He didn't put much stock in the idea of yoga or meditation; he hardly needed to play Enya and bend over backwards to clear his mind. But if it could be said Kurt Wallander meditated, then in his car was where he did it.

The present moment, found him meditating on how exactly it was possible for his young colleague to be so irritating. Slumped over against the passenger window, Martinsson was softly snoring, perfectly passed out. Kurt liked a silent car ride, a peaceful car ride, and there was a reason he usually drove alone.

For someone who'd recently been prickly with pent up energy and irritation all day, his young protégé was out cold now. Of course this was after an hour of Magnus expounding on the evils of "whatever genius" had previously been in charge of the department's case archives and how people needed to "come out of the dark ages and actually use technology for god's sake." After which he had promptly taken a dose of painkillers for his wrist and passed out. Then began the snoring. The only reason Kurt hadn't turned on the radio to drown it out was for fear of waking Martinsson and having to deal with an even more irritable version of the kid. God. Had he been that exhausting as a young man?

The sun was just starting to dip low on the horizon when Wallander turned off the main road and on to the long lane leading up to the Lund's farm. It was a fairly big establishment. Holgerson had said something about dairy cows, and soon herds of the animals standing together in clumps chewing away hypnotically began to appear.

He hazarded a glance in Martinsson's direction, to find the young detective still blissfully unaware.

"Magnus," he ventured. Then, "Magnus!" a little louder.

After a few seconds, his colleague mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like a curse and slowly unfolded himself from his position against the window, stretching his long legs within the confines of the car.

"Are we there?" the young man muttered scrubbing a hand across his face.

"We're here," Kurt confirmed, about to add something about 'try to look awake.'

But the next he glanced over at Martinsson the kid had bounced back, was sitting up looking as alert as a sheepdog in the pasture. God, sometimes he hated young people.

WWWWWWWWW

"Boys will be boys," Mrs. Lund intoned apologetically clutching her handkerchief, "but he finished his community service and we really thought Dag was turning his life around."

"Until now," Mr. Lund lamented, "The Bergers said they saw him in town with that group of kids again last week, the ones with all those piercings... who knows what people like that are involved in."

"Your son has run away before." Martinsson reminded them.

Wallander frowned. The academy apparently had stopped offering any kind of instruction in tact since he attended. "But you say this time something's different?" he encouraged the couple.

"Usually he takes something," Mr. Lund explained, "Money... the television... my car, one time."

Mrs. Lund shook her head, "This time he didn't take anything. Not even a single krona."

"Have you tried contacting any of his friends? Anyone in town he might have talked to before taking off?" Kurt pressed.

Mr. Lund shrugged helplessly, "Yes. I've tried. But No one seems to know anything. I thought maybe I could look through the names and numbers in his mobile-"

"He left his mobile behind?"

"And his wallet with all of his money, credit cards, identification..."

Martinsson shot a look at Wallander, appearing genuinely interested for the first time since they'd arrived.

"Yes," the man reached over and opened a small side table. Retrieving a bright blue phone he handed it to the younger detective. "Unfortunately it's password protected."

"Our son never left the house without his mobile," Mrs. Lund murmured, "I can't imagine why he would run away like this without taking anything at all." She continued voice trembling, "Without telling any of his friends... This time is different, a mother knows! Something's happened to him!" she finished breaking down crying.

Mr. Lund put his arm around his wife comfortingly, "It'll be alright, Karoline; you'll see. The police will find him."

Wallander grimaced inwardly. There was still a fair chance that Dag Lund had simply run away for a another week or two of partying, and that he would wander back to his parents when he ran out of money or friends or drugs again, but he still cringed every time someone expressed their unflinching faith in the police's ability to bring back their loved ones unharmed.

"Would it be possible to take a look around Dag's room?" Wallander asked Mr. Lund, "There might be something there that can help us."

WWWWWWWWW

"And what exactly are we looking for?" Martinsson asked toeing a questionable pile of dirty laundry with his boot.

Wallander shook his head and shut the door, blocking out the continued sounds of Mrs. Lund's crying from downstairs, "Anything that might give us a clue... a ticket stub, a post-it note, a letter-"

"What, from his pen-pal?"

Kurt did his best to ignore the rising level of snark in the room and started going through the bureau. He encountered the usual: socks, underwear, an unopened box of condoms... nothing of any real note until his finger caught on a jagged part of the wood at the bottom of the drawer. That's when he noticed it had a false bottom. Immediately, he set to work prying it up. Anyone who went through the trouble of creating a secret compartment definitely had something to hide. He just hoped it wasn't what he likely would have hidden in a secret drawer when he was seventeen... a copy of _Playboy_ from the 70s.

While Kurt wrestled with the bureau, Magnus had taken a seat on the single bed and was trying to crack the four digit security lock on Dag Lund's phone. He tried '_DAG1_',' _DAGX_', and a few other choice four letter words, still obviously in tune with his inner seventeen year old boy, before giving up and looking around the bedroom. That's when he saw the ACDC t-shirt draped over the back of a chair.

"Got it!" the young detective announced just as Wallander sliced open his thumb anew, while simultaneously managing to get the makeshift compartment slid free.

Magnus looked at him bemused for a second before turning his gaze back to the phone. "Find anything?" he asked innocently.

"Yes," Kurt muttered, retrieving the hidden compartment's only contents: a small neon green square of cloth with a safety pin through it.

It was an odd thing to go through so much trouble to hide.

"What is that?"

WWWWWWWWW

Mr. And Mrs. Lund hadn't had any idea either what to make of the simple square of green cloth their son had gone to such lengths to hide from them, so they were back in Wallander's car headed back towards Ystad with a handful of names and a description of where to find Dag Lund's friends. Apparently, "those kids with all the piercings" as Mr Lund described them could be found hanging around a gallery/bar/punk rock music venue owned by one of Dag's friends.

"Green."

Martinsson had been so quiet up until this point, Wallander had almost forgotten about the young detective's continuing presence. Almost.

"Green?"

"I'm looking through the contacts in Dag Lund's phone," Magnus explained. " There aren't any messages, apart from the half dozen his mother apparently left him before realizing her son didn't even have his mobile to begin with, and all of his texts incoming and outgoing were deleted. But I did find one thing."

Kurt waited.

"You can change the settings on this phone, change the look, the colours... Most of Dag's contacts are just entered in black. But this group," Martinsson thumbs down the list and presses another button, "Are all written in green. And the name of the group in his contacts?"

Wallander finally spared him a curious glance.

"Gudrun's," Magnus supplied.

"The name of the punk bar."

* * *

_Ok that's it for now. Thanks for reading and encouraging my addiction to procrastinating at work!_

_Please R&R if you're following this one. I always like to know if people are enjoying themselves _

_-Amazon_


	3. Starsky and Hutch

_Today's episode is brought to you by the letter "S"_

"_S" for Sweden because it's probably less humid there than it is here, and blonder probably..._

_And the number 100: a hundred karmic cookie points to all those who've reviewed so far!_

_Disclaimer: You COULD sue me for infringement I suppose... but the no-money-at-all I'm making wouldn't make a very impressive settlement._

* * *

**STARSKY AND HUTCH**

_Gudrun's_ was a dive; and proud of it. The place cultivated an air of dinginess enhanced by the industrial look and feel that the owner had preserved long after its apparent conversion from a factory in the 80's. The stage was only just being set up for the night, but already a few patrons were meandering about, chatting up the musicians and drinking beer from grimy glasses.

Kurt had never seen so many piercings, tattoos, chains, and dyed, spiked hair in one location. Thank god Linda had forgone this particular stage. One of the girls with a chain running from her pierced nose to a stud in her ear couldn't have been more than fifteen. Cathching his gaze, she frowned sullenly and slouched deeper into her hoodie, nursing a glass of coke. Wallander knew what he would have told _his_ daughter if she'd asked to get a hole in her face at that age...

"No," Martinsson said, clearly exasperated with the bartender, "we don't care about that. We just want to know if you've seen this kid, Dag Lund, in here in the past two weeks," he demanded, sliding a picture across the scuzzy countertop.

The bartender, a huge, bald man with a cobra tattoo coiled around his neck, glanced with wary skepticism between the two detectives before squinting at the picture, "I dunno; I think maybe I've seen him around here, but I couldn't tell you which nights."

"Take your time. Take a good look," Wallander insisted, "He's apparently one of your regulars."

"Hmph." The man looked at the picture again, "Like I said: I dunno."

Martinsson took the photograph back.

"Thanks. Very helpful," the young detective said dryly.

"Is there something I can do for you two strapping gentleman?"

Wallander and Martinsson both turned at the same time to find a petite woman in her early thirties, hair dyed fire engine red, dressed in a black leather jacket and thigh-high boots, standing behind them. She extended a hand laden with heavy silver rings to Martinsson until she realized his hand was encased in plaster, and offered a bright, apologetic smile instead.

"Bryn Svenson," she introduced herself, "I'm the owner of this fine establishment."

"Wallander and Martinsson," Kurt cut in, showing his badge, "We're wondering if you know Dag Lund."

Bryn held up a hand, "Yes. I do know Dag and I'd be happy to sit and have a friendly chat, but perhaps we could step into my office for that. The Police flashing badges about tends to put a damper on my customer's evening, you understand."

She led them through a door near the back which, although it looked as if it should open onto an alley, in fact revealed a surprisingly clean black tiled hallway. The hallway eventually ended at a large, open space that was evidently the art gallery part of the business. Sculptures that looked like twisted wrecks of metal, photography exhibitions, and something truly bizarre involving lengths of chicken wire and garden hose populated _Gudrun_'s surprisingly pristine gallery. It was a drastic change from the begrimed ambiance of the bar proper, though it still held some of that industrial feel that that apparently made these converted places hip.

"Please, step into my office," Bryn invited, indicating a couple of Ikea chairs grouped around an overturned oil drum on top of which sat a laptop. "It's a sort of temporary setup until I get my plans approved by the city for the add-on I want to build. But I think I'm growing fond of it."

They sat and Magnus again retrieved the picture of the missing boy, "So you know Dag Lund?"

"Yes," Bryn glanced at the picture and smiled wryly, "That's him. What's he gotten himself into?"

Wallander shifted trying to get comfortable on the stylish furniture, "His parents have reported him missing."

"Missing?" Bryn arched a studded eyebrow, "I know he's run away a few times in the past... usually stays with friends..."

"Do you know who?"

She shook her head apologetically in response to Wallander's question, "No, I couldn't say. But he usually still comes around even if he's couch surfing... and actually I haven't seen him in a while."

"How well do you know Dag Lund Ms. Svenson?" Magnus asked.

"Bryn," she amended, "And fairly well. He comes in often. He tends to be quieter, shyer than most of the other young guys. I've tried to take him under my wing a bit. He's getting to be quite the talented sketch artist."

Wallander nodded, "And when was the last time you saw him?"

She thought for a moment, 'Um...Saturday last? No, the one before that. Yeah, I think he came in for the Bloody Screeching Harpies show."

"Did you speak with him?"

"No," Bryn raked a hand through her wild red hair, "I've been so busy with the city planning committee smothering me in red tape...I haven't had much time for anything else. But god... now I wish I had."

"What about the last time you spoke with Dag?" Martinsson inquired, "Did he say anything that sounded out of character?"

Bryn tapped silver painted nails against her chin thoughtfully, "No. He came in here to do some sketching on a Sunday afternoon...sat in here for a few hours... then left."

"And he didn't say anything ? Not about problems at home maybe?..." Wallander persisted.

"No. I'm sorry. We just chatted about the new photography installment and then I had a meeting with a band manager. I wish I could be more help."

Magnus stowed the picture resignedly.

"Oh!" Bryn looked up suddenly, "Actually there was one strange thing..."

She got up and crossed to a corner of the room, retrieving a cardboard box from behind a strategically placed dressing room screen. She wrestled the lid open and pulled out a black leather bound book.

"It's Dag's sketch pad," she explained, handing it to Wallander, "He left it here that afternoon and I forgot to give it back to him the last time I saw him."

Wallander opened the book and leafed through a couple of pages of dark pencil drawings.

"He didn't ask for it back either..." Bryn murmured.

Martinsson leaned over to look at the drawings, "Maybe he forgot it was here."

"No way," Bryn bit her lip, "That sketch book is his prized possession."

Wallander shut the book and handed it to Martinsson. They exchanged a look: Another of Dag Lund's personal possessions he apparently never left home without, left behind uncharacteristically.

"Do you mind if we keep this?" Wallander asked.

Bryn shrugged, "I suppose... if you think it'll help."

They thanked her, and she led them back out to the bar proper with a promise to call if she heard anything. The atmosphere had become a little quiet and tense in their absence. Apparently word had circulated quickly that there were two cops in the bar talking to the owner. Just about every kid hunched over a table with a grimy glass of beer looked at them warily as they emerged from the back hall. All except for one group huddled around a weedy looking guy in an old motorcycle jacket in one corner.

"Hey!"

Wallander was surprised to find Bryn crossing the bar in a sudden fury. As if someone had flipped a switch the formerly calm, graceful woman was storming towards the group. The kids quickly dispersed, but the man they'd been gathered around stood his ground and folded his arms.

"I thought I told you not to come around here," Bryn growled.

The weedy guy laughed in her face, "It's a free democratic country sweet cheeks."

"Yeah well this is my bar. So you have the free and democratic right to get the hell out of here. Understand me?" she menaced.

This was starting to look like it could get ugly. With Martinsson just a step behind, Kurt crossed the bar quickly to intervene.

"Excuse me," Wallander pulled out his badge and sized up the man Bryn Svenson seemed hell-bent on throwing out of her establishment. "Wallander and Martinsson Ystad Police. Is there a problem?" he directed this last part at Bryn.

"Yeah." Bryn pointed to the man, "Him. I've told him I don't want him in here talking to my customers."

The man in question glared from Wallander to Martinsson then back to Bryn venomously, "You called the cops on me? You stupid skanky bi-"

He never got any further than that because _Gudrun_'s owner although maybe half the guy's height, grabbed the hand he'd apparently raised to hit her and gave it a deft, vicious twist forcing him to his knees. He cried out in pain and tried without luck to wrench out of her grasp.

"I warned you, Tristan." She hissed not letting up until Martinsson stepped between them and somehow managed to cuff Tristan mostly one-handed.

Although to be fair, Wallander mused, the guy had been greatly subdued by Bryn nearly breaking his arm.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tristan shrieked, "Arrest her not me! That crazy bi- ...That psychopath! She almost ripped my bloody arm off!"

"Self defense," Martinsson shrugged.

Bryn relaxed minutely and gave him a wryly grateful smile.

"So," Wallander turned more seriously to the man now apparently in their custody, "What exactly are you doing in here? Obviously the owner doesn't take kindly to your being here Mr. ..."

"Gold," Bryn supplied.

Tristan Gold scowled at her.

"We used to date unfortunately. And knowing him, drug-dealing low-life that he is..."

Kurt took over searching Gold's pockets, and Magnus stepped aside. Nothing strictly illegal came up, but an inner pocket of his jacket did reveal something surprisingly interesting...

Kurt looked down at the handful of green fabric squares identical to the one they'd found at Dag Lund's.

* * *

_Where is Dag Lund? What's the mystery behind the green squares? Will Wallander and Martinsson ever admit to being BFFs? Stay tuned!_

_If you leave a review I'll count it as a signature on Magnus' cast! _


	4. Ernie and Bert

_Today's episode is brought to by the letter A. _

_A for airconditioning. How I wish my boss would use it!  
_

_And the number 0. _  
_Otherwise known as the amount of money I'm making off this fic :)_**  
**

_Expect snark and grump and an attempt on my part to know anything at all about Swedish Geography, names, etc._**  
**

_Bon appetit!**  
**_

**ERNIE AND BERT**

True to the old saying: when it rains, it pours. After a distinct drought case-wise, the station had suddenly become a hub of activity; poorly timed considering the persistent presence of the renovation crew and their accompanying mess. Wallander stood among said mess, which had even infiltrated the chief of police's office, wearing last night's clothes and yesterday's stubble.

"You're telling me we don't have a single interrogation room available?!"

Lisa Holgersson crossed her arms and regarded Wallander's outburst with the practiced patience of someone by now well used to weathering them.

"I'm telling you that two are full, and the third's being renovated this morning;" she informed him, "We only have three; until the other two new ones being built are finished. Anne-Britt has that art forgery case now and it looks like it might have ties to organized crime in Stockholm. That's taking a certain priority. "

Wallander huffed and kicked peevishly at a pile of plastic sheeting in the corner of the police chief's office.

"We need to question Gold now, Lisa," he insisted, "We don't have much to hold him on as far as a lawyer will probably be concerned."

"But you think he's tied up in the Lund case?"

Wallander scowled, "I know he is. Which is why I need to be able to properly-"

He was interrupted by a sharp knock on the office door, followed immediately by the entrance of a man and woman. They both wore impeccably tailored suits in contrast to their bright yellow hard hats. He was tall and dark haired, late fifties maybe, and she was almost as tall and rake thin, but stunningly attractive, with long blonde hair; early forties maybe.

"Chief Holgersson," the man greeted, "I apologize for interrupting but I wanted to extend my thanks one more time for your hospitality. The renovations seem to be going well and," he turned to the woman at his side, "I'm sure I'll have a glowing report to submit to my fellow councilmen-and- women at city hall."

"Is this one of your officers?" The blonde woman asked acknowledging Wallander's presence.

"One of my detectives," Holgersson supplied politely, "Kurt Wallander."

Her smile was a little strained Wallander noticed. Lisa was a professional, effective chief, well used to the politicking the position required, but even she was reaching her limits with all of the city council members, auditors and press that kept barging into her station. The upcoming mayoral election that had provided them with the funding and support for the much-needed renovations was a double-edged sword, in that it also meant every politician and reporter in Ystad was watching the project with a political eye and a stifling amount of interest.

"Willa Westin." The woman extended her hand to shake Wallander's, "My company, Westin Construction is responsible for all of this disarray I'm afraid," she added with a charming whiter-than-white smile, "But I'm sure the new renovations will make things much more efficient when they're completed."

The man introduced himself stoically as city councilman Stefan Nyqvist, a member of the building committee. Wallander recognized him from his campaigning efforts on TV and around the city. The councilman was known for his tough on crime rhetoric and his promises to "clean up the streets" if elected mayor. This rhetoric also extended to squeegee kids and homeless youth. But it wasn't entirely his politics Kurt took issue with, as much as his gaudy purple campaign signs: "Put your trust in a real leader" "Vote Nyqvist for Peace, Security and Justice!" ... There were a few on the corner near his flat he was growing particularly tired of looking at...

"Pleasure," Kurt muttered at a pointed glance from Lisa.

The formalities were interrupted by yet another knock at the office door. Wallander sincerely hoped it wasn't more politicians.

"Kurt?"

Mercifully it was Martinsson's head that appeared around the door frame.

The lanky detective looked from Wallander to Holgersson to the two impeccably dressed guests, "Um... an interrogation room's freed up."

Without another word Wallander turned and followed Martinsson out into the hall, leaving Holgersson to make some apology or other for his abruptness.

They were met by a young cadet leading Gold in handcuffs: Anita Wu. It was her second day on the force and she still had the look of a wide-eyed cadet trying to appear imposing. Martinsson took up the head of the procession, guiding them on a detour past the canteen and down a cramped stairwell Wallander was sure he'd never used before, let alone been made aware of. It wasn't especially the kind of place one usually led a suspect through: too isolated. Lawyers could have a field day. There was some consolation though in that it made Gold visibly nervous at the apparent thought of being roughed up in a secluded stairwell by an old-overweight man, a one-handed detective, and a cadet so green it was practically written on her forehead in bold.

"We're taking the scenic route are we?"

Martinsson's facial expression did its best imitation of a cat to whom it's been suggested that it _asked _to take this bath; an expression he directed witheringly at the senior detective.

"Yes, obviously I just felt like stretching my legs."

Wallander glowered right back as his knees gave an audible crack of complaint.

"Where the hell are you taking us Martinsson? You know, there's a reason we don't usually traipse through back corridors with suspects."

This last part was directed more at the cadet.

Martinsson grumbled to himself and Anita Wu chose wisely not to add her two cents at this time.

Tristan Gold however was not so sensible.

"Listen fellas, I don't know anything. Whatever you think I did-"

"Shut up."

Wallander and Martinsson growled in unison.

The younger detective rubbed his injured wrist as they walked. A mixture of Wallander's needling, having had to pick his way through plaster and debris to rescue his laptop this afternoon, and the soreness in his wrist that told him he was just about due for another dose of painkillers, did nothing to improve his overall mood. "I'm saving us time. This way's quicker."

"Wonderful." Wallander deadpanned.

Cadet Wu shook her head listening to the two men who were supposed to be her superiors, but were beginning to remind her more of her two younger brothers bickering over a Playstation game.

"The main hall's clogged," Martinsson pointed out, "too much bloody traffic and everyone and his cousin's now camped out in the pit. Also the elevators are down, which is of course _redefining_ convenience and efficient policing..." His list of grievances continued.

Much to everyone's relief, they soon reached the landing and Martinsson opened the grey door marked **2 **holding it open for the rest of the impatient procession behind him**.**

"If this were Stockholm we'd never have to deal with this kind of-"

They were unexpectedly met by Westin and Nyqvist coming around the corner. There was a sort of awkward pause as the two parties met abruptly. The councilman and the head contractor simply stared for a few seconds until Wallander finally broke the silence

"We're um, on our way to... interview a suspect; if you'll excuse us."

"Of course," Willa Westin stepped gracefully aside.

Nyqvist stood staring at Tristan Gold for another second before similarly making way. Apparently the tough-on-crime councilman had never been face to face with too many of his constituents he proposed to be tough on. He looked as though he'd accidentally swallowed a particularly distasteful bug.

"How the hell did they get down here so fast?" Wallander griped when they were out of earshot.

Martinsson made a point of ignoring him.

As they made their way to INTERVIEW ROOM 2, they passed Anne-Britt and some officers leading a few of their own suspects back to the cell block. They exchanged nods and Wallander exchanged a particularly weary look with his with female colleague. True, he'd much rather be working a case to solve a disappearance and actually help the Lund family find their son, rather than chasing down forgers responsible for ripping off wealthy socialite's art collections; but it was also true that on any day, he'd rather be partnered with Anne-Britt, or possibly a bag of wasps, than young Martinsson. She almost managed to look sympathetic before she rounded the corner out of sight. Wallander however, caught the traces of a smirk in her eyes.

Cadet Wu left them to their own devices and Wallander and Martinsson took up seats across the scratched surface of the metal table from Gold.

"So, Tristan," Wallander began as Martinsson opened the folder that contained Gold's extensive record, "Do you stop by Bryn Svensson's bar often?"

Tense silence.

"What about Dag Lund?" Wallander slid a picture of the boy across the tabletop to Gold, "Do you know him?"

"A Bargain!" the weedy man squeaked.

"Sorry what...?"

Martinsson looked up from his papers.

"I want to cut a deal," Gold jabbered, "I'll give you names, information, whatever you want, but I want protection!"

"Protection from what?" Martinsson demanded.

Gold shook his head wildly, "Get me something on paper... witness protection..."

"Tristan," Kurt tried to keep his voice even, tried to placate the man who'd inexplicably broken into a panic, "I need you to talk to me. Who are you afraid of?"

But Gold continued to insist that: A) he was in danger B) he had information for the police vital to their investigation into Dag Lund's disappearance and C) he was only going to provide that information after he was given some sort of deal to sign ensuring his protection. After about twenty minutes of this, they were interrupted by a cadet informing them that Mr. Gold's lawyer had arrived. They were forced to leave the man with his client so they could confer. This however didn't seem to last long, as ten minutes later, Gold's lawyer Arne Haalson emerged from the interrogation room and nodded curtly at the detectives.

"I've been dismissed," Haalson informed them, "This is my card. Should Mr. Gold rethink his situation, I've encouraged him to contact me."

And with that, the young lawyer marched off down the corridor, leaving two perplexed officers in his wake.

Wallander handed the card absently to Martinsson and looked thoughtfully back at their suspect. Tristan Gold waited for the return of the detectives with all of the composure of a weasel trapped in the bottom of a rapidly filling rain barrel, and through the one-way glass, Wallander and Martinsson watched him squirm, by now thoroughly confused with the morning's events.

"Wolfe &Wolfe," Martinsson muttered.

"What?"

"The name of the firm Gold's lawyer works for."

"So?"

Martinsson tucked the card into his pocket and fished out a small bottle of pills.

"So," he continued, shaking out a couple into his palm and knocking them back with the remainder of his stale, cooling coffee and a grimace, "Wolfe & Wolfe generally don't take on low-life junkies as clients. They're big-shots. They like big flashy cases, lots of publicity; lots of money. Where the hell does Tristan Gold get the cash to hire them?"

"Or the connections..." Wallander wondered, "And why send his lawyer away?"

Martinsson frowned, "We need to find out what he knows."

Kurt went first, bringing a Styrofoam cup of water and his best good-cop demeanor. Time to try to put Gold at ease

"Ok Tristan. We can see you're serious about making a deal," he said, setting down the water in front of the suspect, "And I want to be able to offer you something... but we need something from you first; some kind of assurance that you do have information for us."

"I told you-"

Martinsson waved him off, "Great, yes and I'm telling you we need to see something worthwhile from you first."

"There's a house," Gold finally whispered as if afraid the walls had ears, "near Hedeskoga."

"And what would we find there?" Martinsson pressed him.

Gold was sweating now, looking more and more like a trapped animal, "More green squares."

"Why? What else?" Wallander prompted him "What else is there?"

But Gold shook his head, "l... I'll give you the address."

"Perfect," Martinsson scoffed, "until we get there and walk into a trap. How many of your closest friends will be there ready to welcome us?"

"It's- It's not a trap!" Gold protested. "It's a clinic."

Wallander leaned in curiously, "What kind of clinic?"

Gold turned his attention to the older detective, apparently now desperate to have someone believe him, "Rehab; it's a drug rehab clinic."

"Drug rehab?..."

They were interrupted by the sound of Martinsson's phone.

Wallander shot his young protégé a look, to which Martinsson shrugged a half-hearted apology and excused himself. Kurt sighed exasperated. Mobiles weren't his forte but he was pretty sure, he thought irritably, he knew how to put them on silent while he was trying to interrogate a suspect.

Gold didn't prove himself particularly enlightening during Martinsson's absence, apart from writing down the address near Hedeskoga he'd promised them.

"And who runs this clinic?" Wallander was persisting, as the door opened suddenly and Martinsson reappeared.

"Kurt."

The younger man looked grim.

"We need to talk."

Outside the interrogation room Martinsson ran his good hand back through his blond hair, "I just got a call from a friend of mine on the force in Malmo. I asked her to keep an eye out for me, in case Dag Lund really did just run away... I thought he'd likely head to the next big city..."

Wallander felt his stomach drop, but he knew he had to ask.

"And?"

"They just found Dag Lund's body."

* * *

_The plot thickens! ...I think._

_This story is my first crack at a mystery/detective story..._

_Anyway, if you're still following the bouncing ball THANK YOU! Your follows and reviews add fuel to the fire._

_-Love, Amazon  
_


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